THE DEATH OF BUSH.
“Where is the nugget? What did you do with it?” inquired Harry.
“I buried it in the spot where I found it,” said Bush. “I didn’t dare to
bring it here in open day. There are worthless fellows enough hereabouts
that wouldn’t hesitate to take my life, for the sake of it.”
“But you can’t help its being found out that you have it.”
“No more I can; but in an hour after it is known I start for Melbourne.”
“Will you go to-morrow?”
“Yes, my lad, we will both go to-morrow. It’s share and share alike, you
know. Half the nugget is yours, and if anything happens to me the whole,
and all the money I have in Melbourne.”
“Thank you, Bush; but I’d rather you’d enjoy it yourself. I’d return the
compliment, but I’m afraid all the money I have wouldn’t help you much.”
“You’re young yet. There’s time enough for you to become rich, as I doubt
not you will.”
About half-past nine o’clock Bush and Harry threw themselves down in the
shadow of their tent, and courted sleep. They did not take the trouble to
undress, but merely wrapped themselves in blankets and lay down.
“I feel more sleepy than usual,” said Bush. “Maybe it’s the excitement of
finding the nugget.”
“That’s what keeps me awake,” said Harry.
As he spoke he began to listen intently.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bush.
“I thought I heard somebody just outside.”
“Somebody passing on their way to their own tent.”
“It may be so. I hope whoever it is didn’t hear what you said about the
nugget.”
“They wouldn’t find it here, at any rate. Good-night, Harry.”
“Good-night.”
Bush turned over, and it was not long before his deep breathing
indicated that he was fast asleep. Harry, on the contrary, was wakeful.
He had a nervous, restless feeling, as if something were going to happen,
though his forebodings were indefinite, and took no decided shape.
At length he fell into a light slumber. How long it lasted he could
not tell. But all at once he awoke, to find a man bending over Bush
with a knife in his hand. He uttered a cry of horror, and sprung to his
feet, but too late! The knife descended, penetrating the breast of the
ill-fated miner, who awoke with a groan.
“Give me the nugget quick, boy, or I’ll serve you the same way,” said the
murderer, turning to Harry.
By the uncertain light Harry recognized Henderson.
“Wretch!” he exclaimed, in a tone of horror, “what have you done?”
“There’s no time for talking,” said Henderson, fiercely; “give me the
nugget, or (here he interpolated an oath) I’ll send you after Bush.”
He raised his knife, but Harry was too quick for him. Fearing danger
in some form, he had placed Bush’s revolver in his pocket when he lay
down. He drew it out suddenly, and, presenting it, fired. The charge took
effect in Henderson’s right shoulder. With an oath he dropped the knife,
and, staggering out of the tent, fell just outside.
“Well done, my lad!” said Bush, feebly.
“Are you much hurt, Bush?” asked Harry, bending over the sufferer, and
speaking anxiously.
“He’s done for me, Harry. I shan’t live till morning.”
“Don’t say that, Bush. Perhaps you’re not so much hurt as you think for.”
“There’s no hope, lad. I’m going to die. I don’t know why, but I had a
presentiment that death wasn’t far off.”
By this time the occupants of two neighboring tents had come up. Seeing
Henderson lying groaning just outside, they entered and asked what was
the trouble.
It was soon explained.
Now Bush was popular among the miners, and Henderson the reverse, his
character being thoroughly understood.
“We’ll hang him to the nearest tree,” they said.
“Wait till to-morrow,” said Harry. “Then let the whole company of miners
decide what is to be done.”
To this at length they assented, but cast glances far from friendly at
the prostrate wretch, with whose groans of pain were now mingled appeals
for mercy.
“Comrades,” said Bush, feebly, “come here a moment, I’ve something to
say.”
“Say on, Bush.”
“That wretch has killed me. To-morrow won’t find me alive. That I know
full well. Now I want you to witness that this lad here is to have all I
possess. There’s a matter of fourteen hundred pounds with Bird & Bolton,
bankers in Melbourne, and what I have here the lad knows. He is to have
all. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Bush.”
“I’ve paper and ink in my tent,” said one; “I’ll bring them, and draw up
a line to that effect, which you shall sign if you can.”
“Do so, and quick,” said Bush.
In five minutes, the paper was brought, and the man who proposed this
plan, after asking Harry’s name, wrote as follows:—
“I, John Bush, being about to die, bequeath to Harry Raymond,
here present, all that I have, namely, fourteen hundred pounds
in the hands of Bird & Bolton, bankers of Melbourne, and
whatever I may leave here.”
“I don’t know whether that’s ship-shape,” said the writer; “but if you
can sign it, we will witness it, and I think it will do.”
The pen was placed in Bush’s fingers, and he succeeded with some
difficulty in affixing his signature, after which he sank back exhausted.
The three men who had come up put down their names as witnesses, or
rather two of them did, and the third, who was unable to write, made his
mark.
“I’m glad that’s done,” said Bush, a smile of satisfaction crossing his
face. “I can die more content. Give the paper to the lad.”
The paper was handed to Harry, who received it with much emotion.
“Thank you, Bush,” he said; “but I’d ten times rather you’d live to enjoy
this money yourself.”
“I don’t doubt it, lad; but it wasn’t to be. I hope the money’ll give you
pleasure. Then I can think that I have done some good.”
The three men who had witnessed the paper next turned their attention to
Henderson.
“What are you going to do with me?” he asked, nervously.
“You’ll see in the morning,” said one, grimly.
He was securely bound, and carried to one of the tents, where he was kept
under secure guard. Meanwhile Harry watched beside the suffering man.
“I wish there was a doctor near by,” he said.
“No doctor could do me any good now,” said Bush. “I’ve got my
death-wound.”
Indeed it seemed so. The knife had done its work so surely that not all
the doctors in the world could have saved the miner from death. About
four o’clock in the morning he died. Then Harry, exhausted with watching,
fell asleep beside his dead comrade, and slept heavily till he was
aroused by a rough shake.
He looked up, and recognized one of the three men who had come to their
tent the night before.
“Are you coming to see Henderson swing?” he asked.
“What?”
“We’ve tried him, and he’s to be hung as soon as they can get a rope.”
Justice is swift in mining communities. It was not yet seven o’clock in
the morning, but the guilty man had already been tried, and punishment
was to be inflicted.
Harry shuddered.
“No,” he said; “I don’t want to see it.”
“He killed your friend.”
“I know he did; but I pity the poor wretch. I suppose he ought to be
punished; but I don’t want to see it.”
“You’re too soft-hearted; but just as you like.”
An impromptu gallows had been erected, and a rope was soon forthcoming.
Henderson was dragged to it, pale and trembling, imploring mercy at
every step. But there was no mercy in the hearts of the rough men who
had him in charge. He had foully murdered one of their number, and they
were determined that he should pay the penalty. Among the hundreds who
participated in the scene, there were others perhaps as reckless and
criminal as he, who, exposed to the same temptation, would have acted in
the same manner. But they, too, heaped execrations upon the guilty man,
as he cowered under the gaze of the vindictive mob, and were apparently
as anxious as any that justice should be done. It might have been from
policy, but, at all events, Henderson, as he glanced despairingly from
one face to another, did not encounter one kindly or pitying look. The
only one who pitied him was the boy whose friend had been stricken down
at his side, and he was not present.
I shall not linger on the details of the execution. No one of my readers,
I am sure, can take pleasure in such a scene.
Half an hour after, as Harry still lay in his tent, a miner came to him.
“Is it all over?” asked Harry, sick at heart.
“Yes, it’s all over. Henderson won’t prowl round any more.”
During the day Bush was buried. The funeral ceremonies were slight.
A grave was dug on the hill-side, and the body was lowered down, and
hastily covered over. Harry procured a piece of board, which he set
up for a gravestone, cutting on its surface, as well as he could, his
friend’s name in rude capitals,—JOHN BUSH.
He took into his confidence the three miners who have been already spoken
of, and told them about the nugget, feeling that it might prove a source
of danger to himself as well as Bush, unless he availed himself of the
assistance of others. He offered to divide a thousand dollars between
them, if they would help him to get it safe to Melbourne. He had another
reason also for desiring their company. They were witnesses to the paper
which Bush had signed, and Harry thought it probable that their presence
and testimony might be needed to satisfy Bird & Bolton, first of the
death of Bush, and next of his rightful claim to the money belonging to
the deceased, which the firm had on deposit.
The three miners were quite willing to accompany Harry. The sum which
he offered them would probably far exceed their earnings during the
time occupied, even after deducting all necessary expenses. A day later,
therefore, Harry, escorted by his three mining acquaintances, with the
costly nugget in charge, started on his return to Melbourne.